


Left in the Cold

by MercurialTenacity



Series: It's A Cruel World for Small Things [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (threatened), Abuse, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Defiance, Dehumanization, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Knives, M/M, Master/Pet, Neglect, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Objectification, Rape, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Writing on Skin, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Credence twists in Grindelwald’s grip and the movement sends pain arcing through his body, but does nothing to slow Grindelwald’s progress to the bedroom.  This can’t happen, it can’t, it makes Credence sick to think about and his body may not be his own anymore but he won’t let them dothis.“No!” he cries, and it’s as though the world stops.





	Left in the Cold

“What do you think, Percival?  Wouldn’t it make him prettier?”

Graves looks up from his work with an exasperated sigh, waving his quill in a gesture of indifference.  Credence’s breathing is heavy, and he looks to Graves in the desperate hope that he’ll stop this madness, but he merely looks at Grindelwald and shakes his head.

“Do as you like with him Gellert.  It sounds like a nuisance if you really want to know, but if you’re going to clean up the mess I couldn’t care less.”

Grindelwald hums discontentedly, tugging sharply on Credence’s nipples.  His has them pinched tightly between his fingers, squeezing and yanking and making Credence cry out with each move.

Grindelwald is bored.  Credence could see it in the way he had languished on the couch, his heavy sighs in front of Graves, and his mounting frustration each time Graves ignored him to continue his own work.  And then Grindelwald had remembered Credence.

Credence doesn’t know of anything more dangerous than Grindelwald when he’s bored.

“Ah, come now.  He’s your pet too, this should be a joint decision.”

 _“Honestly,_ Gellert.  How is it I have all this paperwork and you’re wandering around as though you’ve lost your life’s purpose?  Make sure his hole still works in the end and I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Grindelwald murmurs, and his gaze drops from Credence’s nipples to between his legs.  “We could put a ring through the head of his cock.  Or… I wonder what it would look like opened up, hm?  Finally make it good for something, I bet that would look real nice.”

No - no, god, no.  Grindelwald’s threat of putting jewels through his nipples was bad enough, but this - tears spill down Credence’s cheeks and he whimpers, jerking back instinctively and receiving only a painful yank on his nipples in return while Grindelwald watches for Graves’ reaction.

At Graves’ wave of indifference he smiles, seemingly content to play on his own now that he’s had a suitably entertaining idea.  He pulls Credence up to standing, dragging him towards the bedroom, and Credence _can’t._

He twists in Grindelwald’s grip and the movement sends pain arcing through his body but does nothing to slow Grindelwald’s progress.  This can’t happen, it can’t, it makes Credence sick to think about and his body may not be his own but he won’t let them do _this._

“No!” he cries, and it’s as though the world stops.

He knows instantly that he’s made a terrible mistake.  Grindelwald looks at him incredulously, Graves looks up from his papers, and Credence pales under the weight of their shocked gazes.

 _“What_ did you say?” Grindelwald hisses, and Credence swallows.  It’s not really a question, there’s no way he can avoid punishment, and it’s been so long since he’s resisted he doesn’t even know what they’ll do to him.  But it can’t possibly be worse than what Grindelwald was planning, it - it can’t be.

“N-no, sir.  Please no, please don’t, no, no -”

Grindelwald slaps him so hard it sends him to the floor, and it’s followed by a kick to his stomach which robs him of his breath.

“What the fuck,” Graves says above him, and Credence closes his eyes as he curls in on himself.  The two of them stand above him, looking down at where he cowers on the floor choking and gasping for breath.  The moment he gets air back in his lungs he starts to sob, shaking uncontrollably with the terror of knowing there’s no way to come back from this.

“Fuck,” Graves says again.  “What’s wrong with him?”

“He thinks he’s a person,” Grindelwald replies, eyes glittering with cold fury.  “We’ve been too soft on him Percival, he thinks he can make choices.  He thinks he has opinions.”  Grindelwald prods Credence roughly with his foot again, the point of his shoe digging into Credence’s aching belly.  “But it’s not a person.  It’s a toy.”

Credence whimpers, unable to stop himself.  He knows that anything he says will just make things worse, he _knows_ it, but he can’t stop.  Everything he’s endured for so long now flares up inside him, every moment he’s spent passive under their control, and he didn’t realize he had the will left to say these things but he can’t hold it back any longer.  “Please sir, I - I don’t want to be a toy, I’m not, _please_ don’t hurt me I don’t want it -” It’s like the first few weeks he spent with them all over again, only this time it’s worse; this time he knows there’s no escape.

It’s not Grindelwald, but Graves who drags him up by the hair, wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes, drags him through to the bedroom all without so much as looking him in the eyes.

“It, you say?” Graves asks Grindelwald.  “Well, let’s show it what it is, shall we?”

Credence’s struggle is futile as they pin him to the bed, working in concert to rob him of every movement.  Graves kneels beside him with a knee over his throat, reducing his protests to choked gasps while Grindelwald straddles him and traps his hips, and in moments he’s helpless.  His voice is lost beneath the pressure at his windpipe and his hands are held in Graves’ iron grip above his head, chest bare for whatever they want to do to him.  Credence can’t see them with the way Graves is pinning his head to the side, but he can feel them.  Grindelwald’s fingers are cruel on his skin, pinching and tugging roughly as though appraising the planes of his flesh.

“What shall we do to it, Percival?  Ruin that little cock it’s so attached to?  Fuck it?  I wonder what sorts of things we could fit up its hole.”

“Get rid of it,” Graves replies.  “If it can’t behave, what’s the point of it?”

Credence trembles.  He feels something he can’t see pass between them, and then Grindelwald breathes, “ _Yes.”_

Credence doesn’t know what they mean.  Get rid of him?  He tries frantically to think what they’re going to do - God, are they going to kill him?  He knows he’s a plaything, barely human to them, and sometimes under Grindelwald’s hand it had feels as though he were dying, but he’d never thought -

Credence’s struggles mount, body twisting and writhing on the bed, but for nothing.  They’re strong, and with the two of them combined he never stood a chance.

Suddenly he feels the cold edge of a knife at his ribs, and he tries to scream though he has no breath.

Grindelwald keeps him like that for a moment, balanced on the edge of terror, before he drags the long edge of the blade down Credence’s side.  It burns and throbs as Grindelwald scrapes off a swathe of skin, the wound just deep enough for blood to well up from it, excruciating as the top layers of skin are cut away.  It feels as though he’s being skinned alive.

He hears Grindelwald’s delighted laugh and can imagine the expression on his face, his joy at seeing Credence in so much pain.

And then Grindelwald does it again.  He scrapes along Credence’s other side, over his stomach, his thighs - it feels as though there’s no part of his body left untouched.  At some point he passes the knife to Graves, whose exacting hand takes up the work while Grindelwald presses the tip of his wand to Credence’s chest, and with a fluttering gasp Credence thinks _this is it -_ but it’s not.

Pain sears through his skin as Grindelwald carves lines into him, etching letters into his skin until his entire chest feels as though it’s on fire, pain spreading out from the white hot point of Grindelwald’s wand.

 _“Worthless,”_ Graves reads, and he chuckles.

Credence can’t see what else they write on him, but he feels the deep pain of it and the blood that trickles down his chest from the wounds.  They flip him over and give the same treatment to the newly exposed skin of his back, making Credence scream as the wounds on his front are ground excruciatingly into the sheets.  His mind grows hazy after a while, the agonies running together in a constant flow through his body, pulsing through every part of him.

He comes back to himself somewhat when he feels Graves between his legs, prying his thighs apart to fuck him hard and fast.  He grips Credence’s bloody hips, yanking him closer, and sobs wrack his body.  He can feels Graves’ cock deep inside, tearing him open to his very center, the pain of it mingling with the other agonies of his body as Graves takes him.

With a grunt Graves comes across his back, coating him, and before long Grindelwald adds his own release to the mess.  Credence’s hole feels loose.  Empty.

Credence doesn’t have the strength to move but he can’t stop crying.  He’s a mess of tears and come and blood, covered in filth and aching across his whole body.  Anywhere his wounds touch the sheets it burns through him, and he can’t fully control his movements but he tries desperately to hold still, to preserve his tattered skin.

After several long minutes without their touches he hopes it might be over.  He hears them talking above him but can’t make out the words, simply lying there and trying to make his body breathe.  He’s exhausted, in so much pain, and he hopes they’ll let him rest now.

When hands close around him again, dragging him up from the bed and out of the room, he can barely manage more than a whimper.  His brain doesn’t register where they’re taking him, not until he feels the cool air hit his skin.

They haul him backwards out the double doors to the balcony, and Credence doesn’t remember the last time he was outside.

It’s dark, nighttime, and Credence can hear the sounds of a city below them.  He can’t take much in, but it doesn’t sound like New York.  The cool air almost feels good on his tortured skin, nearly soothing, until he’s dropped unceremoniously onto the concrete.  It bites into his skin making it burn anew, and dragging a scream from his throat which Graves cuts of with a muttered _“Silencio.”_  In Credence’s scramble to pull himself away from the rough surface he doesn’t notice Grindelwald affixing the collar around his neck until it’s too late.  With a tap of his wand it seals itself, affixed to the center of the balcony with a chain which allows Credence just enough slack to sit up, but not to stand.

Graves has already turned to go back inside, holding the door behind him for Grindelwald, who follows him without further delay.

Credence scrambles up from the ground, trying desperately to save his skin from the rough ground.  The best he can manage is an awkward crouch, and it’s a moment before the pain recedes enough for him to realize what happened.  He looks to the balcony door, closed with the curtains drawn over it.  He can’t see Graves and Grindelwald.  He’s alone.

They threw him out.

 _“Wait, please -”_ Credence tries, but Graves’ silencing charm holds and he makes no sound.  Fresh tears fall down Credence’s cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the bloody mess of his chest, and he looks down at himself.

They left him naked, covered in come and still dripping blood, and - in Graves’ neat script and Grindelwald’s elegant scrawl, words etched across him.   _Toy_ above his left pectoral, _property_ slanting across his stomach, _it_ below his navel and _whore_ beneath his collar bone.  Grindelwald’s _worthless_ centered on his chest.

Credence curls in on himself.  He wants to throw up.

He knows there’s more he can’t see, carved into his back and ass to show the world what he is.  Credence’s sobs are completely silent, wracking his body as he shivers, exposed on the balcony.  They’ve never done this before.  They’ve never left him.  Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe they’ll let him inside, let him be warm at least, even if they torture him.  He hopes, he _hopes._

But they don’t come.  The minutes slip by, and they don’t come.

It’s growing colder, and Credence nearly topples over with fatigue.  He tries to lay down, hissing and sobbing each time a patch of his raw skin touches the concrete.  Grit and dirt grinds into his wounds, and there’s no position he can find which doesn’t make him dizzy with pain.

They don’t come.

When Credence wakes in the feeble sunlight of the next morning his bones ache and his throat burns with thirst.  The come and blood has dried on him, and when he tries to sit up it pulls at his scabs, opening the wounds enough for blood to trickle from them once more.  He waits as the sun continues to rise, listens to the sounds of a city waking up around him.

They don’t come.

The sun creeps high overhead.

They don’t come.

By the time the sun has set again Credence is barely conscious, body too heavy with hunger and exhaustion to move.  He doesn’t react when the door opens, nor when rough hands drag him inside, scabs tearing open once more against the concrete.  When he’s dropped his head thumps against the floor, and everything falls to black around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/)! :)


End file.
